


Through My Eyes

by LostUnderTheSurface



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics)
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 14:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostUnderTheSurface/pseuds/LostUnderTheSurface
Summary: She wonders, sometimes, if they see her the way she sees them. If they see the colors, the wings, the shades of their voices.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because voices have colors and everything you say is colored by _how_ you say it.

Bruce is Father and Safety and Mentor and Justice. His name is black and his wings are gray and his voice is deep, like an incoming wave that rolls firmly through her mind.

Barbara is Mother and Love and Comfort and Strength. Her name is dark gray and her wings are green and her voice is the steady rhythm of a summer shower.

Dick is Brother and Laughter and Kindness and Hope. His name is blue and his wings are silver and his voice is carefree and bright as the dawning sun.

Tim is Partner and Sadness and Silence and Friend. His name is Robin's green and his wings are gold and his voice is quiet and determined, the roots of a tree digging down into the earth to plant firmly in the soil.

Stephanie is Twin and Acceptance and Soul-Mate and Confidant. Her name is purple (eggplant!) and her wings are piercing white and her voice is the cheerful babbling of a hundred brooks.

But Jason...

Jason is Fear and Rage and Murder and Enemy. His name is blood-red and his wings are black and his voice is rough and haggard, a thousand roaring winds buffeting and slamming her around like a fragile leaf.

And then there is herself. Cassandra. She is uncertain how they see her, but in her eyes, she is Daughter and Sister and Mender and Redeemed. Her name is yellow, almost gold, and her wings are gray, and her voice, her seldom-used voice, is quiet and calm, the gentle knock of a child's hand upon a parent's door.

She wonders, sometimes, if they see her the way she sees them. If they see the colors, the wings, the shades of their voices.

Maybe, in their way, they do.

**Author's Note:**

> My first Cassandra piece. Apologies for any part that seems out of character for her.


End file.
